


I Am To See To It That I Do Not Lose You

by covetsubjugation, PotterheadAvengerDemigod



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blackhawk - Freeform, Clint Barton Feels, Clint has emotions, Clintasha - Freeform, Clintasha Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, F/M, Flashback, HawkWidow, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Feels, Natasha Romanov's Arrow Necklace, Natasha always gets injured and hides it, Natasha has emotions too, SHIELD agents are actually really emotional, because Natasha's just like that, but we still love her, what the heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:47:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covetsubjugation/pseuds/covetsubjugation, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotterheadAvengerDemigod/pseuds/PotterheadAvengerDemigod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the first fight they have had, but it is certainly the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am To See To It That I Do Not Lose You

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea in the middle of class, covetsubjugation actually wrote quite a bit of the fic... oh well.  
> First bit contains a hint of blood -you have been warned!

It's not the first fight they have, but it's the worst.

She's just back from a mission, her body bruised and muscles aching, and she's pretty sure she's bleeding out from the stab to her side.

She stumbles into the bathroom, hand pressed to her side, fingers stained red and the wound still gushing.

JARVIS asks after her in concern but she only mumbles incoherently at him and he silently turns the shower on, the pressure lighter than what she prefers but considering her injuries, it is probably for the best.

Her red locks are in her face, lank and limp from the moisture in the air and matted from the slight clotted bullet graze on her scalp

Hissing as the heated spray hits her wound, the water that rushes down the drain a vivid pink, she stands under the shower, letting the water wash away the dirt and grime from her body, the blood from her hands -in every sense of the word.

The blood does not stop oozing from the wound in her side, and neither does the pain. It sends sparks of agony down her spine, like a demented beast clawing at her.

She doesn't realise when she blacks out. 

* * *

 

 She wakes to blinding white and the beeping of machines, the familiar harsh breathing of panic and anxiety.

There is a hand in her own, squeezing to the point of pain, rough and calloused and so warm. It transmits caring and concern; anxiety and fear. Hope and terror.

Green eyes blink open slowly, and the first thing they see is a head of sandy blond, before piercing, stormy gray eyes are staring into her own, gazing and loving and furious.

"Tash?" His voice is low and gravelly from exhaustion and relief. "Are you alright? God, please be alright. Please."

Her voice is scratchy, her throat dry from misuse, and she can't get her vocal cords in order.

So she simply squeezes back.

The roiling storm in gray eyes calms, and his grip tightens minutely before slackening.

She takes him in, his worn, beaten face. Shadows beneath his eyes, face scruffy and unshaven, hair mussed and standing up in spikes.

He's still in his S.H.I.E.L.D. issued sleeveless vest, bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, his arm guards still on and his hand clinging to hers.

“Rest,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

 He waits till she's fully recovered and discharged from Medical to let it out.

"God, Tash, what were you thinking? That wasn't a superficial wound, far from it! If JARVIS hadn't alerted me in time, you would have bled out! Goddamn it, Tash, you can't do these things!"

And so it goes with “You’re not the boss of me,” to “You never trust me,” to “I’m better, you’re just not good enough,” to “You’re a freak.” They know each other’s weak points and they show no mercy, hitting where they know it hurts the most. Natasha thinks it might actually hurt less if Clint stabbed her in the wound again.

Her world slams to a stop when he bites out, "I want it back."

His eyes, bright with anger and rage, are focused on the hollow of her throat, where the silver pendant lies -an arrow.

"Clint-" she chokes out, hand closing over the necklace.

“No,” he snaps, interrupting her. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. Stop calling me Clint.” The stormy gray eyes are still burning with his anger, one hand outstretched and stiff, the other clenched and muscles rippling with his fury.

Natasha's armour comes back up, her shield rising and sealing her off from the world yet again. Her eyes harden, as does her voice.

"You really want it back?" She finally asks, fingers reaching back to undo the clasp.

But then she remembers.

* * *

_“Tash,” she hears the familiar voice call after her._

_She turns, and sees Clint bouncing towards her, like a kid in a candy store. He stumbles slightly when he reaches her and she laughs, reaching out to steady him._

_“Easy there, bird feathers,” she teases lightly. “Where’s the fire?”_

_It’s been a long while since she could have such a relaxed conversation with anyone, this easy give-and-take, teasing and joking, without being called to order with a sharp bark._

_The way Clint smiles is intriguing. When he’s genuinely happy, only one corner of his mouth lifts up in cheerful grin. His eyes sparkle with mirth and Natasha thinks the only time she might ever really shed tears is if she never got to see this face again._

_“I got you something,” Clint says and he tugs on her hand lightly until he can place a small red box in her palm._

_She tilts her head at it curiously and it isn’t until she hears Clint urging her to open it that she does. She pries it open, meeting a slight amount of resistance, but she sees inside is worth it._

_There is a small silver arrow, nestled in black velvet, sitting within._

_“Do you like it?” Clint asks eagerly. “Personally, I would have gone for something more accurate, you know, like the arrows I used in New York? But I thought you might like something simpler.”_

_Her lips move but no sounds come out. Now Clint frowns in worry, “Tash? You okay? Do you not like it?”_

_She finally finds her voice._

_“Clint,” she whispers, looking up at him._

_“I love it.”_

* * *

 Her throat feels dry, like it’s closing up. She tries to swallow, can’t. All of a sudden, she can’t even draw breath.

She looks at him, perhaps the only true friend she has ever had, and all she sees is hatred in his eyes.

She has dealt with criminals before, the lowest of the low, people who the normal police wouldn’t even touch with a ten foot pole. Murderers, terrorists, rapists, she has seen them all. The things she has seen, the things she has done, would have made anyone else pull the trigger long ago.

But she has never felt as low as she did now (with Clint glaring at her the way he is).

“Cl-” her lips refuse to form the words and a trembling hand reaches down to curl around the charm protectively.

_Please, please, don’t take this away from me. Please, you can't take it back. You can't take back your faith in me, you can't take back your love, you can't take away the necklace.  It’s all I truly have - the worthiest of me that is deserving of love._

Her lips move around ineffable words before they form the one word she has never said.

“Please.”

Please means backing down. Please means begging for mercy. Please means showing weakness. Please means please don’t take this from me, don’t take the only thing I have ever truly earned away. Please means please forgive me, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.

Clint’s eyes widen in shock, and his hand falters. It drops back to his side and his fist unclenches.

“Please,” she pleads and it is the only word she can say and before long, the word falls repeatedly from her lips, and she is shaking so hard she can barely see, and it doesn’t stop even when Clint pulls her into his arms and wraps her tightly up in him.

She sits, breath coming out in shuddering gasps, and her face is wet with tears, and her fingers are wound far too tightly in Clint's suit but she can't bring herself to care because she nearly lost him and damn it all, she is crying again.

His lips brush her hair gently when the shaking slowly subsides. She curls up into him. “I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“No,” she says back, “I am.”

The wound, it still hurts, but Natasha knows, she knows she will suffer through it a hundred thousand times because the pain of it was nothing, nothing compared to the pain of almost losing Clint.

Clint's lips brush her hair again and she thinks, "You are everything."

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? To be honest, I like the parts that covetsbjugation wrote better than the parts I wrote...


End file.
